Truth be told?  I don’t know.

I guess that there must’ve been something as a kid.  I vaguely recall trying some of my mother’s clothing on, but it was all part of growing up, and I don’t recall thinking anything of it, other than “…well I did it, and that was that.”, however perhaps something had set itself deep within my undeveloped, irrational mind that I didn’t know about at the time.

I’d say that my fetish for cross dressing in lingerie on a regular basis probably started the best part of ten years ago.  But I don’t know how or why, although it would be nice to somehow work it out.    Whilst on a very rare occasion, I have pulled on skirts and blouses over the lingerie I was wearing, it didn’t last.  I knew very quickly that I wasn’t into that side of the crossdresing experience. It was just the lingerie.

In reflective mood this last few days this week, it has been the first time that I’d ever stopped to fathom out just how long I’ve been crossdressing, but I’ve been able to recall landmark moments in time and places I remember to pin it down to being around a decade.  A decade of secrecy, discreet goings on, purchases, purging, purchases, purging…

Having no personal lingerie wardrobe has no risks.  Wearing your wife’s has some risks, but I’ve always meticulously put things back as I found them, often to the ‘enth degree.  The God’s honest truth is my wife doesn’t wear any of the vast array of lingerie available to her – ever.  (I’ve frequently said to people during on-line discussions ‘…it’s probably why I do’.

For her, it’s just an everyday bra (which are nice enough) and completely different and in no way matching knickers and nothing else crosses her mind.  Fair enough I suppose.

So why does she have this vast array then?  Did she buy it?  You probably know the answer.  I bought for her in the hope she’d wear it, and though it’s been nice on the very very rare occasion when she has worn it, it has been me that has worn it far more and I kind of knew it when I purchased it.   Chemises with detachable suspenders, baby dolls and a spider basque, on-line stuff offers a breadth and depth of things you can buy discreetly and confidentially.

There were all too frequent orders on-line for me too, which, with the old fashioned postal system of arriving on either first or second post systems early in the day, I somehow managed to time it so that only I was around for things that used to arrive in the morning.  Lucky for me I guess.  That worked really well and for quite a while too, but I don’t think it would work nowadays as the post can come at any time around my place.   Before though, I built up a quite simply gorgeous array of chemises and stockings, taking a penchant for bridal white in particular and there was also a soft satiny ruffled cream affair with gold glitter I used to love.

The sessions I had often included strategic self-photographing sessions, placing a camera on a timer, getting into position, hours of editing surroundings out of the shots to remove any possible links to it being me and my place, and those pics were then posted on-line, page after page, some nice comments, some encouraging comments, some supportive comments, and nothing negative.

I’d be cross dressing at every opportunity.  Mornings, evenings, days off, home alone weekends or evenings, more photographs, CD-ROMs full, hidden in the strangest of places.  I remember being off one day when the gardener was on site – me all dressed up in white bra, stockings and suspenders and heels, curtains and blinds drawn, hoovering up, doing the housework I’d promised the wife I’d do whilst she was out.  I remember the gardener passing by the back door down the side passage and me being quite close to the back door, darting away thinking that I’d been seen through the patterned glass.  Surely the fact that all the blinds, curtains and windows were shut was of some suspicion.   Then again, perhaps not!

I remember when the wife was away on a trip.  I’d milked every last minute of available cross dressing time before i had to go and pick her up back in civvies and acting as normal and that it was just another day, but feeling quite satisfied, smug even, of what I’d been so comfortably doing.   I even started giving some very very serious consideration to buying breast forms, but the issue of stashing stuff was already a problem, an ever bulging stash box hidden away beyond reach of all but I.   Breast forms were and are not for me – that I know irrespective of whether I could store them or not.

I remember the first purge, but when it came in the great scheme of things I don’t know.  I can only assume that guilt laid its heavy weight on my mind for one reason or another.  Either way, a necessary trip to the local tip with some general household junk offered an opportunity to go with a black bin liner full of my stash and get the deed done.  There I was – in the right frame of mind to end it.  Conscience clouded, objections weighing heavy, stash – trashed.  I still remember casually flinging what most would think was just another bag of junk,  when deep down inside I knew what I was doing, happy at the time that I was doing it and like a shot putter at the Olympics, lofted that bag into the relevant skip.

I did wonder for a few days who would have found it, and what would have happened.  It’s probably someone else’s lingerie now!  I’m now wondering that about the contents of my latest purge!

As for the CD-ROMs, I still remember smashing them up – the bits probably ended up in the same bag at the tip.  I also remember wiping the memory sticks on which some pics of me in my finest had sat.  And those pics on line were also removed too.  All part of what was evidently, quite a massive, no stone unturned, 110% purge.

The fact that I’d purge made no sense to me until someone gave me the description on an on-line forum.  It was new to me before that.  The crossdresser’s act of retaliation from within, cleansing, erasing, but often before a cycle begins again.  I was assured that this was perfectly natural for a cross dresser and this helped put it into perspective and rationalise it all.

But of course, this isn’t just something that I’ve been able to put aside for good although my feelings at the time were the opposite – that’s until they weren’t – again.

The phrase ‘what goes around comes around’ kind of fits, and that stash box found itself filling up, in much the same way as it had before. But this time, I was still beating myself up at what I lost before in that trip to the tip and truth be told – I still do.

Needless to say, there was a trigger to starting again.  Recently, it seems to have been women wearing tights – or were they stockings?  I always used to and still do wonder how you can tell (apart from those who make it obvious!), but that’s what usually sets me off, as well as hot girls in the office.

Supermarket or department store lingerie aisles, TV ads, women wearing lingerie on TV and even folk comedically cross dressing on TV, something I might have read in a newspaper or magazine – triggers and reminders were always around, sometimes when you least expected them or wanted them.

Sometimes, I sat there frustrated having been surprised – triggers I didn’t necessarily want or feel comfortable with at that time, perhaps at a time I was trying to get my mind off it, yet somewhere within, it reignited that spark.

Cometh the spark, cometh the return of the recovering crossdresser.

But there was to be a major bump in the road ahead.